


Hurting and healing

by NovemberWings



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Dehumanization, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, angel! Roger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-14 06:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberWings/pseuds/NovemberWings
Summary: The boys bought Roger so he would be free from Tim's abuse and neglect but none of them realised how hurt and broken Roger was behind his emotionless facade.None of them, including Roger, expected Roger's adjustment to be this hard.





	1. Food

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenOfAllCorgis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfAllCorgis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fly Away, Fly Away, Far Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19222567) by [QueenOfAllCorgis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfAllCorgis/pseuds/QueenOfAllCorgis). 

> 'There was the first time they tried to convince Roger to eat with him and he was clearly so stressed he had to force himself to eat, looking physically ill afterwards.'

Roger sat uncomfortably tense on the sofa. He sat on the left side so that his injured wing wasn’t being crushed but he was trying to keep it out of the way as best as possible. Brian sat next to him on the sofa to his right, he was reading a textbook or some thick looking book that Roger desperately wanted to look at. He knew he wouldn’t be able to read it but the scientific pictures in it looked interesting and he wanted to try and decipher some of the words. But he didn’t want to bother anyone.

This was the first day that he had come out of his room since the others had bought him and he was absolutely terrified. He knew that they would never be as bad as Tim. He knew that. But he also knew that eventually the other shoe would drop. When Brian had ushered him to sit on the sofa not on the floor Roger had to mentally smother the voice telling him that it was a cruel trick – but his survival instincts were too ingrained and he just couldn’t relax. Which was why he started so harshly when he heard Freddie shout;

“Dinner!”

From the kitchen. His eyes quickly flicked away from the book Brian started to close, not wanting to be caught, instead moving his vision towards where the voice had come from.

“I’ll bring yours, don’t get up.” He said casually, waving him back down, when Roger started to stand up as well. Brian’s voice wasn’t cruel or even minutely angry sounding but it still made him cringe and mutter;

“Sorry.” He hadn’t meant to presume that he was supposed to eat, which is what Brian clearly thought, he was getting up to help serve them. Brian frowned a little, which Roger missed as he had quickly slammed his eyes down to look at Brian’s feet. Brian wanted to sigh, upset that Roger seemed so docile, but he didn’t knowing that it would only upset Roger further.

Brian quickly padded into the kitchen, leaving Roger alone in the silent living room. He started ringing his hands together – nerves making him shake slightly. He didn’t know what the protocol was here. He didn’t know what was expected and his stomach started rolling with anxiety. Surely they wouldn’t starve him like Tim had… they had given him food before but that was before they owned him. Things might have changed now.

After a few silent and long moments Brian reappeared out of the kitchen with Freddie and John behind him. Each one of them carried one tray, with a plate on it and Roger flicked his eyes away to his sock clad feet – not wanting to stare and make them think that he thought he should get some food.

“Here.” Brian said as he stood over Roger, holding the tray out to him. Roger’s eyes flicked to Brian’s face, who raised his eyebrows in expectation – so Roger did the only thing he could think to do he reached out with trembling hands and took the tray. He rested the tray on his lap, feeling the heat from the food on the plate coming through onto his lap. The plate was full but not piled up. There was mash potato with butter, just like in the pub, with three breaded rectangles and baked beans.

He knew objectively that he was hungry. He had to be. He hadn’t eaten properly since before his wing broke a few days ago but the anxiety sitting on his stomach completely repressed his hunger and the smell of the food even made him feel a little sick. He glanced up from the plate, intending to look at Brian to see what he wanted him to do with the food, but Brian was gone – only John and Freddie were still in the room with him. John was sat on the sofa putting some mash into his mouth while Freddie messed around with the television.

The static hum of the TV filled the room before nonsensical chatting started from the speakers.

“Is countdown on?” John asked Freddie who was messing with the channels.

“You are such a pensioner.” Freddie mocked John while laughing – but John simply rolled his eyes not rising to the bait.

Soft padding came from the kitchen as Freddie settled on a channel and Roger looked over to see that Brian was making his way back from the kitchen with another tray and another plate of food. He returned to his seat next to Roger, put the tray on his lap and started eating the food on his plate – which was the same food that Roger had, except that Brian had a breaded circle not rectangles.

Roger frowned harshly, panic grabbing his chest. Did they not realise how wrong this all was? He was sitting on the settee, eating the same food as them… not just the same food but his own dinner – not left overs or scraps. And Tim had never liked to see Roger eat – saying that he looked disgusting when he ate… why would the others want to see Roger do something as disgusting as eat? Was this a trick? It must be a trick. He shouldn’t be eating like this!

Freddie had since sat back down and had started tucking into his own food. And it didn’t go unnoticed for very long that Roger was the only person who wasn’t eating. Brian gently bumped his hand against Roger’s – Brian’s hand gently holding a bread knife and Roger’s hand trembling too much to even contemplate picking up the cutlery.

“Can you eat, Rog?” Brian asked, a frown coming through in his voice – but Roger daren’t look up to his face. He wouldn’t fall for the trick – and while his stomach was rolling and the last thing he wanted to do was eat - he knew that Brian’s question wasn’t sincere, it was a command disguised as a question.

“Yes sir.” He responded in a whisper. The boys shared a look as Roger intently and obediently picked up his cutlery and mechanically started to scoop up some potatoes. Roger was actually slightly impressed with himself that he didn’t drop the fork or food because of how badly he was shaking.

He put the potato in his mouth – nerves making his tongue numb – and tried to swallow it and even though it was the tiniest bite Roger felt like gagging as he tried. It was as if he had a small ball of anxiety stuck in his throat – blocking the way for his food.

Suddenly, a horrific thought washed over Roger like a wave and he felt as if he would be sick on his plate. What if they forced him to eat until he was sick… what if they force fed him and then made him throw up? They could do that and then he wouldn’t ever get fat.

Trembling he reached down and took another bite, this time of baked beans, the numbness of his tongue not really allowing him to taste the food. At that realisation another surge of anxiety and sickness washed over him of his impending punishment – they would say he didn’t appreciate it. They had spent money to give him food and he couldn’t even try to appreciate it! They would starve him for this. The memory of the starvation that Tim had put him through ached at his stomach and without thinking he put his hand over his belly, internally wincing at the phantom pain that he was sure would soon return into a too stark reality.

“Are you okay, darling?” He heard Freddie say from the other sofa, he looked up from his plate to look at Freddie and John – who were both staring at him intently. He flicked his gaze towards Brian who was also looking at him – they all had frowns on their face.

“Sorry.” He said, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He wanted to go to his room and lock himself away from all the eyes.

“You’re not disturbing us, Rog.” John said kindly, “is everything okay with you food? You can say no.”

Roger’s face fell, all the blood ran out of his face. He hadn’t thought that he was being that obvious but they’d noticed!

“No!” He exclaimed, almost shouting before he realised what he had said, “no, I mean yes. Everything okay with the food I promise. It’s lovely and I really appreciate it, it’s nice. I like it, I really like it.” His voice was a panic as his eyes flitted between Freddie, John and Brian’s faces.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? We can do you something else if you don’t want it.” Brian said, making Roger shake his head in mortification. How would he ever dare to ask for different food when he already had some?

“This is fine. This is great! Thank you. Thank you Freddie for doing me dinner.” He said before he took another fork full of potato and put in in his mouth and swallowed to prove his point. He took another fork full and another – trying to eat them as fast as possibly, but it was getting harder and harder to swallow.

“As long as you’re sure, darling.” Roger nodded, his gaze now directly staring into the enemy that was his dinner, and thankfully the others dropped it and went back to their own food – but Roger could feel their gazes on him. He kept up a steady pace, but the more food he ate the sicker he felt, the more nightmarish scenarios he conjured in his head and the harder it got to swallow – to the point that his eyes started watering when he forced a bite down.

It seemed to take ages but Brian put his knife and fork down, and Roger stole a quick glance at his plate to see that Brian had left most of his mash and a few beans… maybe Roger could leave some as well then? As he took another bite of the breaded fish and chewed slowly he looked at his own plate and saw that he had eaten about three quarters of the mash, half of the beans and two and a half of the breaded rectangles. He struggled to swallow the mouthful that he had – his anxiety creeping up on him again, knowing what he was about to do, but maybe it would be okay?

“Is it okay if I don’t have any more now?” He asked, looking to Brian who had sat back against the settee. Brian’s eyes went wide at Roger’s question, making him panic and quickly try and fix his mistake; “if it’s okay with you I mean?” He rushed out, panic clawing at his chest.

“You can stop eating whenever you want, Roger.” Brian said looking sad.

“Am in trouble?” He whispered, a little scared to hear the answer. Brian didn’t look shocked at Roger’s question and instead sadly shook his head.

“Not at all.” Roger still felt on guard but a lot of the anxiety slipped away… it didn’t completely disappear but it did ease significantly.

“I’ll do the washing up.” John piped up and his eyes quickly flicked over to John who stood up and started collecting their trays.

“I can do it.” He said, starting to stand up – wanting to fix his awful conduct earlier but John shook his head.

“You’re healing Roger. We’re not monsters who are going to make you do housework with a broken wing.” He said as he took Roger’s tray and started walking into the kitchen. At that Roger felt his sick feeling come back again at full strength. He didn’t understand his role here. He didn’t know what they wanted him to do. And that was a dangerous place to be because at any moment he could do something wrong.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked Brian helplessly, still standing awkwardly by the side of the settee.

“Sit down and relax. You don’t have to do anything right now.” Brian patted the sofa seat next to him and Roger reluctantly and hesitantly took a seat and everything went back to how it was before dinner; Brian reading while Roger sat too tense. He didn’t want to breathe too loudly and the sickly feeling in his tummy didn’t go away as the food in his stomach mixed with anxiety and felt as if it would burn a hole in Roger’s torso. For the rest of the night he sat in silence, only speaking when asked a question – desperately trying to understand what he was supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!  
So I'm really excited about this! I started reading QueenOfAllCorgis' fic 'Fly Away, Fly Away, Far Away' and the au is amazing. I absolutely love this fic and really recommend that you go and read it.  
But in chapter 9 *spoilers* the boys have saved Roger from Tim and the author mentions how Roger's moving into their flat isn't as easy or as smooth as they would have liked and mentioned three specific incidents that struck Brian. I really wanted to explore these three incidents because I'm a glutton for writing angst! also I thought it might be interesting to see Roger's thoughts during this transitional period as well
> 
> Thank you to QueenOfAllCorgis for not only writing this amazing fic but also giving me permission to write fanfiction of your fanfiction!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and I'm really liking writing this so I'll hopefully get the next fic up soon! Please let me know what you think!


	2. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'There was the time Roger accidentally broke a glass and went into a full blown panic attack, falling to his knees in broken glass blubbering for forgiveness.'

Freddie was sitting next to Roger on the sofa, their legs touching – he was the one who always sat the closest and casually touched Roger. Despite the fact that most touch made Roger want to cringe into his skin it was almost welcomed from Freddie. Freddie exuded calm energy, helped by the fact that he always called everyone ‘darling’ or ‘dear’, and Roger liked the fact that he didn’t treat him like he was made of glass. 

But as much as Roger didn’t want to admit it he knew that he was made of glass – that anything could suddenly make him shatter – so even sometimes when Freddie touched him he would jump or flinch.

But right now he was okay. He was the calmest he had been since he had been able to get out of bed about a week ago. He was still struggling to eat but he was getting better, especially because he hadn’t been punished yet. They never seemed to mind that he couldn’t finish all of his food and hadn’t once thrown it back in his face or made him throw his food back up.

He could feel his eyes blurring a little from concentration as Freddie moved some of the Scrabble tiles around to help him spell a new word. He was so tired and he was struggling to keep up but he didn’t want Freddie to stop teaching him – he knew how important this was for him. So why couldn’t he concentrate!

Without meaning to he let out a little noise of anguish grabbing Freddie’s attention.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He blinked harshly trying to focus his eyes better before rubbing his hand over them.

“Do you need to stop?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” He said, with a definite desperate twinge to his voice, “we can carry on… please.” He did hesitate about to add a ‘sir’ onto the end, that was what was usually required when he had the same desperation flooding his system but he did restrain knowing that Freddie didn’t like it. When Freddie didn’t say anything for a moment Roger shifted his gaze from the tiles to Freddie’s face and saw that Freddie’s eyebrows were creased and his mouth was turned down in sadness.

“I didn’t mean we’d stop for good, darling, I mean more for us to take a little break. There’s no point in trying to learn if nothing’s going in.” His voice wasn’t mocking or cruel but Roger felt bristled.

“I’m not stupid.” He said as strongly as he felt he was allowed to. Freddie reached over and gently took Roger’s hand, which he wasn’t aware he was squeezing the edge of the table in a vice grip with until now, and started rubbing his thumb along Roger’s.

“I know that, of course you’re not stupid. But it takes time to do things, my love, and that’s okay. Why don’t we have a drink and a snack and put some music on and have a break for half an hour and come back to it refreshed, hmm?” Roger wanted to protest and carry on but he knew Freddie was right. He had reached a max capacity for what he could do right now so he nodded, and Freddie had said they could carry on later…

“We’ll do some more in a bit?” His voice was small when he asked, he was always nervous asking for things – worried one day he might be asking for something a step too far.

“Of course!” Freddie said, his usual flamboyance taking over the sad and concerned tone that had previously laced his voice, as he flung his arms in the air. “Now,” he said as he clapped his hands, making Roger start ever so slightly, “a drink!” Despite everything Freddie always managed to get some semblance of a smile on his face, and this wasn’t an exception. Freddie hopped up from the settee while Roger stood, notably more self-consciousness. He was always conscious of how much space he was taking up, especially with his broken wing that he couldn’t properly fold in yet. It was always the silly little things, like how loudly you breathed or how much space you took up, that would get them to snap.

“Freddie!” They heard John shout from his bedroom as they started to go towards the kitchen. Freddie froze, his back going slightly tense before sighing, “Where’s my bloody jumper?” He sounded angry and Roger knew it was inappropriate to smile knowingly at that but he couldn’t quite help it – Freddie had a habit of hiding or stealing John and Brian’s clothes that he thought were ugly.

“Oh darling it’s hideous.” He shouted back imploringly.

“Get in here!” John shouted back and Freddie shot Roger a look that managed to look mischievous and sheepish at the same time. In response Roger decided to trust him and not hide the cheeky grin on his face, which made Freddie’s own smile grow.

“I’ll get the drinks?” He suggested still smiling. Freddie reached forward and grabbed his hand gently, bringing it to his lips and gave his knuckles a gentle kiss.

“Perfection. Absolute perfection is what you are.” And Roger couldn’t help but let a genuine smile spread across his face. He loved being told that he was doing right because here the rules didn’t make sense. Whenever he offered to do anything he normally got a sad look in return and he didn’t understand why but this time he was doing the right thing, so he nodded determined to get this right.

Freddie quickly scampered off in the direction of John’s bedroom while Roger went the opposite way towards the kitchen. He flicked the light on and walked straight to the fridge, opposite the door, and pulled out a bottle of lemonade – he had really taken to the fizzy soft drink enjoying the sweet tartness of it and Brian insisted that he drank more than water if that’s what he wanted to do. He had been incredibly scared of doing so before but after some gentle encouragement he started feeling more confident in going to get himself a glass when he was offered a drink.

He had once, even, casually mentioned how since he had started drinking lemonade he felt more steady on his feet – he just thought that if was a funny coincidence but Brian had pointed out that it was probably because Roger wasn’t getting enough sugar and the lemonade was regulating his blood sugar levels. Since that realisation all of them pretty much insisted that he had a glass everyday – and he wasn’t exactly complaining about that. He pulled the bottle and smiled at it as he placed it on the counter, taking a moment to appreciate how lucky he was. 

He paused for a moment, remembering where the glasses were before he went to the cupboard and opened it and instead found plates rather than glasses.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath. He normally had the layout of a house down within a few days but he wasn’t grasping it as quickly here – probably because he usually wasn’t allowed near the kitchen with the others insisting that he wouldn’t cook or clean while he was healing – it was probably quite sensible considering how cramped the kitchen was and how he couldn’t fold his wing up yet. 

But still a shot of anxiety find a place in his chest for two reasons. Normally when he got something like this wrong his orders would take longer to complete and that meant punishment but it also made him feel slightly sick because maybe he was stupid? If he couldn’t remember where the fucking glasses were how could he ever learn to read?

“You fucking moron.” He said quietly as he moved over to the next cupboard which actually held the glasses. He pulled out two glasses, a pint glass which someone had nicked from the pub and a smaller blueish glass, and poured out the pint glass for Freddie and the blue glass for himself. He still had a completely adverse attitude to having the same portions as the others and he didn’t ever want to presume that he should have the same. 

He quickly put the lid back on the bottle and shoved it back in the fridge, frowning slightly as his negative thoughts grew. His brain loudly insulting his lack of ability to do anything but serve.

“You alright, Rog?” The question was casual and wasn’t said in the same tone as when someone was asking him in concern, it was just a casual greeting. But he hadn’t known that anyone was there – his loud thoughts had been distracting him too much. The sudden voice made him start, his heart hammering, and spin round with wide and frightened eyes, forgetting where he was for a moment.

He only had a moment to register that the was looking at Brian standing in the door way of the kitchen before he heard the loud sound of the two glasses shattering on the hard floor. His eyes slammed over to look where the glasses sat on the counter a moment ago but instead he saw nothing there but his broken wing. He looked to the floor to see the remains of the two glasses which had been smashed to pieces and lemonade slowly spreading across the floor.

Horror flooded through his entire system, like he had been electrocuted, as he realised that he had just knocked the glasses off the side with his wing that was normally tucked tightly against his body. His eyes flicked from the mess on the floor to Brian’s face who was staring at the floor in shock and Roger knew this was it. This was the breaking point. The other shoe was about to drop and it was going to drop hard for this.

“I’m sorry.” He croaked taking shaking breath in, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He couldn’t help but keep repeating it as he fell to his knees, hard. The impact would have hurt enough but he had managed to kneel in some broken glass shards, he yelped but he knew that it was nothing compared to what was going to happen to him.

“Roger!” Brian exclaimed but he ignored him, favouring trying to fix this awful situation as much as possible.

“I’m sorry, please forgive me, please I’m so sorry.” He knew he was babbling under his breath as he desperately, with trembling hands, started to try and pick up shards of sticky, broken glass – a job made harder by the tears that were completely obscuring his vision. His mind was spilt in two – half of his brain was trying to figure out what in the hell he could do that would fix this and the other half was trying to guess his punishment… he hadn’t been punished here before so he had no idea what to even expect. Another cold wave of panic flooded through him as he realised the most effective punishment that he would be given: his wing. His wing broke the glasses so they would hurt his wing. Anything but his wing… anything.

All he could hear was his own begging for forgiveness, with the gaps being filled with a panicked ringing noise so when Brian’s hand grabbed his he hadn’t been expecting it – and with it the entire world, that had been going black at the edges, suddenly broke into a clear and too stark reality. The contact made him flinch awfully and drop the shards of glass. He threw himself backwards away from Brian, his back hitting the fridge – making him wince at the jarring of his wing, but that was the least of his problems. He stared wide eyed at Brian who was kneeling on the other side of the mess.

“Please don’t hurt me. Please, please don’t.” He knew he looked a mess but he couldn’t stop crying or the snot running down his face or the blood pouring out of his knees.

“Alright, you’re alright.” Brian said standing up and stepping over the mess, closer to Roger who cowered even harder against the fridge, staring up in terror at Brian’s towering frame.

“Don’t hurt me.” He whimpered out, folding in on himself as much as possible – trying to get away from Brian, “It was an accident, please don’t, it was an accident.” He sobbed out. Brian leant down and grabbed his forearm, to which Roger gave a quiet whimper, but he didn’t pull away.

“Let’s go to the living room, come on.” His voice wasn’t angry but Roger knew not to be fooled – when he had been punished on the farm it was never out of anger or passion but out of a cold indifference. Brian started pulling his arm to get him to stand up – which he did on trembling legs.

“Please don’t hurt my wing, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Not my wing, please not my wing.” His mind was blank, as if it was an endless stretch of white nothingness.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Roger.” Brian’s voice was sad but the grip on his arm remained strong, and the words didn’t register in Roger’s head at all. 

When they reached the living room Brian guided a whimpering Roger over to the sofa before he gently pushed Roger to sit down. Roger felt his spine go ridged as he sat on the settee, knowing that this wasn’t his place to be. Sitting on furniture was a privilege which he had surely just lost, so when Brian moved to sit next to him on the sofa he started to go down towards the floor to kneel – he would show him that he knew his place. But as he started to lower himself he felt Brian grab his elbow, making him pause but he daren’t look at Brian’s face.

“Stay on the settee, you’ll hurt you knees more.” Roger’s gaze flicked to his knees to see that lots of the glass had managed to go through his trousers, and now his trousers were soaked in blood and lemonade. He hadn’t thought it possible but Roger was even more frightened now. He had ruined two glasses and a pair of trousers.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Please don’t punish me too badly.” He whispered – knowing that asking was futile and that his punishment had already been decided. He heard Brian take a sharp breath in, probably to say something, but was interrupted by Freddie’s voice;

“Is everything alright? We heard a smash.”

“Jesus Roger are you okay?” John’s voice quickly followed. John rushed over and knelt in front of Roger, who sat tensely on the edge of the sofa, to look at his tear ridden, flushed face.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m incredibly sorry. I broke the glasses but please don’t hurt me.” Roger didn’t know if it was helping at all that he was asking not to be punished or if it would lead to worse punishment… he didn’t understand the rules, he didn’t understand the punishments but right now it didn’t matter whether he understood them or not because he knew that he was acting on instinct alone right now – not with rationality – and the only instinct he has was to beg. Next Freddie was at his side.

“My love, you’re bleeding!” He exclaimed as he knelt down next to John, making Roger want to recoil because they shouldn’t be kneeling in front of him. Freddie quickly grabbed his hand, much like before, but this time Roger had a vision of Freddie’s long and elegant fingers wrapping around his fingers and bending them back until they snapped. He broke two glasses so they would break two fingers. 

He couldn’t help but roll his hand into a fist in Freddie’s grip, frightened of the inevitable.

“Please don’t break them.” He implored looking at Freddie, before he glanced to Brian. “Please don’t. Not bones please not bones.” He hated having his bones broken because it made him clumsier and he couldn’t sleep and then that would mean more punishments and he knew that he was hyperventilating but he couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry I ruined your trousers, sir.” He spoke between gasps. Freddie reached forward, and despite Roger’s flinching continued, until he placed a gentle hand on Roger’s cheek and wiped away some of the flowing tears.

“It’s Freddie remember? Can you call me Freddie.” When he said that something suddenly snapped in Roger and he remembered where he was. He was still frightened and he was sure that he would be punished but he wasn’t with Tim any more. They wouldn’t maim him or torture him… he knew he deserved punishment but they wouldn’t be unfair or sadistic. His breathing calmed a little and he nodded.

“Yes Freddie.” A small, sad smile found Freddie’s face and nodded encouragingly. Brian grabbed his other hand, making Roger turn his head towards him.

“Roger, can you look at me please?” It took a moment of hesitation before Roger dared to shift his gaze up to look Brian in the eyes. “We’re not going to hurt you. You’re not going to punished.” Brian’s voice was slow and deliberate. “It’s just two glasses. We care about you more than two glasses.” There was a beat and before Roger could think he croaked out;

“But what about the trousers?”

“The trousers don’t matter, Rog.” John piped up, making Roger’s gaze flick back to him. “And even if the glasses mattered or if the trousers mattered we wouldn’t punish you for an accident.”

“We wouldn’t punish you for anything.” Brian carried on, “We’re never going to hurt you Roger.” Roger looked back to Brian – staring at him with disbelieving eyes.

“But I did something wrong…” He couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on.

“It doesn’t matter.” Brian said, in complete earnest. Roger looked at Brian for another moment, his eyes scanning his face, before his gaze shifted to John and Freddie’s face which mirrored the earnestness of Brian’s featured. He hesitated before asking;

“You’re really not going to hurt me?” His voice was little more than a whisper – but their close proximity combined with the silence of the flat made it very audible.

“Absolutely, we’d never hurt you.” Freddie said, making the other two nod.

So much relief flooded Roger’s system that he actually let out a small sob.  
“Thank you.” He spluttered out, gently tugging at the hand Brian held – which he let go of – so he could wipe at his tears. “Thank you so much.” There was a moment of silence in which Roger sat with a swirl of emotions in his stomach; there was a lingering fear, but so much relief and gratitude.

“You don’t have to be thankful.” John said, slightly sadly.

“I am though. Let me thank you properly. Please.” He said sniffling a little bit before he asked nervously, “who first?” He didn’t love doing this but it was so much better than what he had running through his head a moment ago – in comparison this was a dream.

“Roger…” John said sadly before Brian piped up.

“That’s not going to happen… like ever. You don’t have to thank us for not mercilessly torturing you.” Brian’s voice sounded tense and almost slightly disgusted.

“Oh…” He said a little lost for words. They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments.

“Why don’t you go to your room to calm down for a bit and I’ll come in and help you with your cuts?” Brian suggested.

“But the mess?” He said, worry creeping back in at the notion of someone else cleaning up his mistake.

“I think Freddie should do it. He’s on dinner duty also he’s being a complete dick today so I think he should.” John said teasingly, easing Roger’s worry a little but he couldn’t help but to self-consciously glance at Freddie to see if he was okay with the arrangement. Freddie gave John a playful shove, which made john wobble because of the awkward position he was sat in, before Freddie begrudgingly agreed;

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes but the playfulness was clear.

“But… I broke the glasses and spilt the drink.” He said, still thinking that he should clean it up.

“You can’t kneel to clean it up, dear.” Freddie pointed out before standing up quickly, “plus I’m already up.” He started walking away before Roger could protest any further.

“Head into your room.” Brian said, giving Roger and encouraging push between the shoulder blades, just below where his wings started.

“I’m really sorry, Brian. John I’m…”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. I’ll be in in a minute.” Brian interrupted his further apologetic ramblings. Roger knew to take the hint that it was an order to be quiet, so his bit his tongue, hard, almost as a way of self-punishment for being so stupid before he silently shuffled off into his bedroom. He hesitated in the doorway but decided that he shouldn’t close the door… he had surely lost that privilege.

He looked around his quiet room, the tranquillity of it almost seemed humorous in comparison to what just happened, but he was miles away from laughing at anything. He glanced at his bed but instead opted to sit on the floor. It was definitely the safer bet – he was already on thin ice. As he lowered himself to the floor he felt a twinge in his legs and looked to his shins and there was so much blood soaking into the material. Brian didn’t want him to kneel out there and Roger didn’t want to risk the carpet getting dirty either so he chose to sit on his bum, leaning against his bed.

He sniffled a few times and desperately wiped at his face, trying to stop crying and after a few minutes he realised he had run out of energy to keep crying. His tears quickly dried, leaving his face feeling flushed and hot, as he sat trembling like a leaf on the floor – a little in shock. He could feel his shins throbbing and blood running down his legs but he sat and ignored it – it was nothing compared to the pain he had expected to be feeling right now and he knew on some level that he deserved some pain for what he had done.

After he didn’t know how long there were three gentle taps on his bedroom door, making him jump a little before he looked to the door to see Brian standing just outside of his room holding a medical kit and a glass of drink.

“Can I come in?” Brian asked calmly, not in a mocking cruel way, which sometimes Tim used to do just to show Roger how little power and agency he actually had. Brian was actually, genuinely asking. Meekly Roger nodded.

“Of course.” His voice was hoarse from the crying. Brian stepped into the room and walked next to Roger before sitting on the floor next to him.

“Here.” He said, holding out the glass to him. Roger blanched as he stared at the glass. They were going to let him drink after what he had just done? “I severely doubt that you’ll break another one.” Brian gave a little chuckle, “and even if you did it wouldn’t be a problem. Here.” He moved the drink closer so Roger reached out with two trembling hands and took the glass in a vice grip. He held it for a second – desperately wanting to take a sip but he was better to err on the side of caution.

“Can I…” he swallowed, “can I drink some?” Brian’s face fell and for an instant Roger was frightened he had done something wrong again.

“Of course you can, Rog. That whole glass is for you – drink as much as you want.” Roger nodded and greedily bought it up to his lips and drank about half of the glass – the coolness soothing his raw throat immensely. And he was more than a little surprised to find that the glass was full of lemonade. When he had finished he reached up and put the glass on the bedside table before he looked to Brian again.

“Thank you.” But Brian shook his head in dismission, his tresses bouncing as he did so.

“It’s okay, don’t even think about it.” He paused for a moment before he continued, “am I okay to clean up your cuts?”

“Yes please.” He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have owners or friends who looked after him this well. Brian looked embarrassed for a moment before he reluctantly said;

“Are you okay to take your trousers off and sit in your boxers? It’s only so I can get to your legs easier, but if it would make you uncomfortable…” But Roger cut off Brian’s ramblings by standing up and stripping his trousers. It wasn’t like he was completely naked and if Brian wanted to do anything anyway he would be frightened but he wanted to make Brian happy. “Oh.. okay.” Brian stuttered at Roger’s speed and certainty, “Do you want to sit on the floor or on the bed?”

“Is the floor okay?” He asked a little sheepishly, not sure how he would feel sitting on furniture right now, but Brian just nodded so he sat back down next to him. 

“I’m going to take the glass out with some tweezers,” Roger nodded in understanding, “and then I’m going to disinfect them and put some plasters on, okay?” Roger nodded his consent, cringing internally at the disinfectant but he knew it had to be done. “Roger.” Brian’s tone made him look up and look into his eyes, “this is important okay. This is going to hurt but you need to know that this isn’t a punishment. You’re not going to be punished. And most importantly if it starts to hurt too much tell me and we’ll take a break.” Roger nodded again but Brian took his hand tightly.

“Roger I need you to tell me that you’re going to tell me to stop if you need to.”

“I’ll… I’ll tell you.” He agreed.

“And you know this isn’t a punishment don’t you?” He nodded but Brian raised his eyebrow in expectation.

“I know it’s not a punishment.” It looked like him saying those words lifted a weight off of Brian’s chest.

Brian leant forward and started plucking glass out of his legs with a pair of tweezers, dropping the shards into a small plastic tub. Brian was clearly concentrating and was silent but the silence was making Roger’s tummy turn.

“Can…” He spoke a Brian froze where he was, not moving to pluck any more out of his leg.

“Am I hurting you?” Roger shook his head.

“Can I ask permission… to say something?”

“You don’t need to ask permission to do anything. Am I okay to carry on?” Roger nodded and Brian started pick out more pieces of glass. “What did you want to say?”

“Am I in trouble?” He whispered, as it were a secret.

“Not at all. Roger, everything is fine I promise. No one’s mad or upset at you. Please try not to worry about it.” They fell into silence and soon after Brian sat back, having pulled out all of the glass.

“I’m going to disinfect them now, alright?” He poured some alcohol onto a cotton wool pad and was about to press it to one of Roger’s cuts just before Roger reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Wait…” Brian hesitated letting Roger speak, “Can you talk to me while you do it… please? Could you explain that dust thing you were reading about the other day? It might help a little… if that’s okay?” Brian nodded.

“Yeah of course.” He said before he started into a long explanation of space dust as he started pressing alcohol into Roger’s cuts. Roger winced sharply, feeling tears spring to his eyes, but he just closed them tightly and clenched his teeth – trying to concentrate on Brian’s words. He was quite proud his hadn’t cried out and he felt Brian pull back and he opened his eyes.

“Have you finished?”

“No, I’ve only done one leg.” Brian shook his head.

“Then why did you stop? I can carry on.”

“Your head was lolling. You looked like you were about to pass out, Rog.” He was a little upset that he was going to have to go through it again on his other leg.

“Can you just finish so it can be over?” He threw his arm over his eyes as he realised how dizzy he really was, and lay his head back against the bed.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Brian asked his wariness almost palpable but Roger bit his lip and nodded – it needed to be done.

“Just… quickly please…” He asked quietly.

“I’m going as quickly as I can.” He sounded sad and regretful, but Roger couldn’t dwell on that before more science filled his ears and pain flared up on his other shin. Somehow it was worse after he had a break and after way too long Brian finally stopped. Roger was thankful, he was going to need to ask for a break if it took much longer because his breathing was laboured and stuttering – he could see stars behind his closed eyes.

“Done?” He croaked out.

“Yep. Can you try and have a drink?” Roger blinked open his eyes, cringing at the light slightly, before taking the glass of the bedside table and finishing it. He looked to his legs when his vision had come back. All his cuts were covered in tiny little plasters.

“You did the plasters as well.” He said in surprise, he hadn’t even felt him doing it.

“I thought it would just be best to finish.” Brian shrugged as he started packing away all the medical supplies. Roger waited for a moment before he spoke;

“Thank you. Thank you for cleaning me up and not being mad.”

“It’s okay.” Brian said as he put the medical kit aside, now it was completely packed away, looking to Roger. “We’ll always look after you, you know. You’re our friend and we love you and we would never dream of hurting you for anything.” Roger nodded at that.

“I know… this is just so new and it’s really hard.” Brian nodded in understanding. Roger loved when he did that – he always felt like he was being seen properly when Brian did that.

“I get that but you have forever to get used to it.” He paused waiting to see if Roger was going to say anything, but he didn’t have anything to say so Brian just continued; “Deaky mentioned that we should watch a film tonight – do you want to come and we’ll have popcorn?” Roger nodded and gave a little bit of a forced smile.

“Yes please.”

“Come on then.” Brian said standing up, before extending a hand to Roger to help him up. “Put some pyjama trousers on – nothing too tight – and meet us in the living room when you’re ready.” He said giving Roger’s hand a gentle squeeze before he picked up the medikit and left Roger’s room closing the door behind him.

And Roger took another moment to truly appreciate how good he had it here and how lucky he was. He would do anything to not mess this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! Chapter 2! This turned out so much longer than I had expected it would be but I think that it was worth the little extra time it took. This is a lot more angsty and a lot more serious but I guess the incident required a little bit more of a graphic reaction.
> 
> I hope you liked it despite it being slightly dark! Please let me know what you think of this chapter! 
> 
> And I'll get the next chapter up when I can!


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